Take me home tonight

At this point last year, I was stressing going back to Philly for my five year high school reunion. Who did I want to see?  Who would I have to avoid? And was there enough alcohol available to get me through the whole thing?

Today, though, as I head back, I’m thinking much more about what I’m looking forward to, than what I’m not.

• I’m looking forward to pie duty. Every year during Thanksgiving dinner, I help around the kitchen, but my biggest responsibility is making the pies – pumpkin and pecan, naturally.

• I’m looking forward to Black Friday. Yes, it’s gotten a little ridiculous with sales starting at midnight (whatever happened to the good old fashioned 4am start?), but it’s still tradition. So I will drag myself to the outlets at an ungodly hour, and do my part in stimulating this economy. Even though the crowds are terrifying.

• I’m looking forward to running my first race with my entire family. We’ll be doing a 5k in the area, that not only promises appearances from the “Jogging Turkey” and Santa Claus, but also helps raise money for the school near which it’s being held.

• I’m looking forward to brunch with my high school girlfriends. I usually only see them over the holidays (though, that might be changing soon – I’m sensing a whole lot of weddings coming up), but we always pick up right where we left off.

I’m unfortunately not looking forward to the extended family we’ll have over on Thanksgiving day, but hey, nothing’s perfect.

And that’s what bottles of wine are for.

Roomie love

Nearly six and a half years ago, I was anxiously awaiting an essential piece of information from the university I’d be attending in the fall. It wasn’t a course schedule or orientation information. Oh no, it was much more important than that. I was waiting for my roommate assignment.

I was nervous, to say the least, after all the roommate horror stories I’d heard, plus my lack of confidence that the roommate questionnaire was really capable of pairing me with an appropriate match.

But, after all that worrying, and imagining the worst possible scenarios, something ended up going very, very right. Jus and I clicked instantly.

First week (maybe the first day?) of orientation. So young...

None of the roommate tales I’d heard would have had me predicting that we’d live together all four years of college, but that’s exactly what happened. And while those four years provided us with oh-so-many stories (at least one of which I shared), there’s one story from freshman year that proved early on what a good (and tolerant) roommate Jus was:

Some of the details are a bit fuzzy. The night had been a celebration of accepting my sorority bid, and therefore, an initiation of sorts had taken place. A very good, and very strong, friend had carried me a good part of the way back home, and had even called Jus to let her know we were coming. They both put me into bed and figured that was that.

Except, I must have gotten up to use the bathroom at some point in the middle of the night, and when I walked back into the dark room, I could see Jus asleep in her bed, and (what I thought was) someone asleep in mine. (Turns out, it was just the way the comforter was positioned…who knew?)

So, thinking that my bed was taken, I made the only logical choice. I crawled into bed with Jus and proceeded to spoon with her for the rest of the night. She didn’t kick me out. She didn’t wake me up. She just nudged over a little bit to make room for me. And when we woke up in the morning, and I realized that there wasn’t, in fact, anyone in my bed, she just said, “Yeah, I wasn’t really sure why you got in bed with me, but I wasn’t too worried about it.“

She’s clearly the best. And today is her birthday.

So happy birthday, Jus! I hope you celebrated well this weekend.

And maybe even did a little spooning.

Just say no

(678): while 90% of the female population goes to worship a fictional character tonight at midnight, I will be taking advantage of having the bars ALL TO MYSELF.

I guess that means it’s finally time for the new Twilight movie, doesn’t it? New Moon?

I know that some people have been counting down to this. They feel the same way about Twilight as I do about Harry Potter. Except slightly more rabid. (Them, not me.) But I have a hard time getting behind the Twilight phenomenon.

[Full disclosure: I haven't read any of the Twilight books. I know that they're a fast read. I know they're supposed to be better than the movies. I think there's a part of me that's actually afraid of liking them. So I'm abstaining all together.]

Anyway, because I haven’t read any of the books, my opinion of the series is based on the movie. Because, yes, I did see the first one. I love a good teen angst story as much as the next girl. I’ve thought Robert Pattinson was attractive ever since I saw him as Cedric Diggory.

So I allowed a couple coworkers to convince me to go to the theater.

That’s two hours of my life that I’ll never get back.

For the first half of the movie, I was actually laughing out loud. (It was not supposed to be a comedy.)

For the second half, I was cringing because the awkwardness was just so palpable. And yes, teens are awkward, but it felt like awkward acting, as opposed to awkward adolescence.

But then, months later when the DVD was coming out, and I saw the previews on TV again, I found myself thinking: hm, maybe it wasn’t as bad as I remember…

Wait, what?! Where did that even come from? Talk about your selective memory…

I’ve now found myself doing it again with New Moon. I know that I don’t actually want to see it. I didn’t enjoy the first one, why would I put myself through the second?

But still, some of the trailers seem appealing…

And that’s exactly how I got sucked in the first time.

These things, they happen

I have a crush.

A completely harmless, totally school-girl, 100% academic crush.

I’ve always found intelligence sexy – particularly when combined with passion. And I feel that you can tell by a person’s tone and face whether it’s true interest in whatever they’re talking about, or whether they’re just trying to impress you.

(I once had a guy try to impress me by reciting Pi out to 15 or so decimal places. It is a feat, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not going to get me to go home with you.)

And so, in any case, while I’ve consistently looked for those traits in the gentlemen that I date, to varying degrees of success, I’ve been surprised that I never had that “professor crush.” I had several friends in college who were crushing on their professors or TAs. And some of the more ambitious even managed to turn fantasy into reality. But it was never my thing.

Until now.

No, I’m not back in school yet; I’m not taking any classes. But the current project on my plate at the office has me working side by side with one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met.

The Professor knows the project subject inside and out – and truly loves it. When I go into his office for meetings, I don’t even notice the time slipping by as one conversation topic seamlessly leads to another. He encourages my questions, without making me feel like an idiot for not knowing. He respects, listens to, and wants my opinion, even though I’m the farthest thing from an expert in this field.

And yet, even as I write this, I realize that I don’t actually have a crush on him, per se.

Just his mind.

Which is probably a good thing. Lack of a full crush makes working together a lot less awkward.

Where did “muppet” come from anyway?*

Today is shaping up to be annoyingly busy, but I found these little gems the other day and wanted to share (originally from TMZ). I know they’ve been around for a bit now, but they still make me smile.

Particularly these few:

This really makes me wonder if muppets aren't actually based on real people...

The resemblance is uncanny

Now, truth be told, this last one kind of makes me sad. You see, Rizzo was one of my favorite muppets – mostly due to his role in the classic The Muppet Christmas Carol. But now, if I can’t see him without thinking of Ron Jeremy, the movie may be ruined.

Only time will tell.

So who’s your favorite muppet?

And, if you made your own photo like the ones above, who would you consider to be your muppet doppelgänger?

I’m still considering that one.

*I love it when Wiki has the answer: “The word “Muppet” itself was said by Henson to have been created by combining the words “Marionette” and “puppet”; however, Henson was also known to have stated that it was just something he liked the sound of, and he made up the “marionette/puppet” story while talking to a journalist because it sounded plausible.”

In west Philadelphia, born and raised…

I made a startling discovery the other night, as I sorted through various CD cases that I had tucked away amids the DVDs in my TV stand. I was looking for one of my John Mayer CDs (judge if you must, but I love him – particularly Room for Squares) when I found a relic from my middle school years.

Yeah. I own that CD.

So, of course, I couldn’t not listen to it after finding it – I thought I’d lost it years ago.

But the startling discovery wasn’t that I found it (or even that I had it in the first place, please), but that I still know all the words to every song.

How is it that I can’t remember details from my contemporary politics classes in college (which I enjoyed, mind you), but I know all the words to Miami?

Or, that I have trouble remembering if I’ve worn the same outfit within a two-week period, but I can sing (and dance to) Men in Black?

Or, that I can only recite about three full sentences from my years of Chinese tutoring, but Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It is etched in my brain?

I feel like these lyrics are taking up valuable memory space that could be used for something far more relevant. I can practically guarantee that I will never go on a job interview and be asked to rap anything, let alone a Will Smith song.

So I’d like to do a little switching up. Sub out Will Smith and sub in…I don’t know, something else that will actually help me in life.

Or, really, anything that doesn’t have me singing na na na na na na na.

I should have known better

I did not sleep well last night.

Saturday, I spent a very lazy day catching up on TV shows, and watching movies. And, because one movie isn’t enough, a friend suggested we also watch Paranormal Activity.

(Just to give you an idea, if you’re not already familiar with the film.)

He’d recently seen it in the theater, knew that the premise freaked me out, but convinced me that it would be better to watch it during the day, online, with company, so as to lessen the fear factor.

That was a good idea – in theory.

But by the time we finished the movie, it was dark out and I was hearing strange noises from every which way. So I went out that night, determined to take my mind off things, and hoping that a few drinks would help me fall asleep.

Success!

I figured the first night after would be the hardest, so I wasn’t particularly concerned when I got in bed last night. But oh.my.god.

I couldn’t close my eyes, because I kept seeing images from the movie.

I heard little noises coming from my dishwasher, some of which I’d heard before, but then others that I never had.

I heard knocking, and tapping, and footsteps. And creaking, and humming, and whirring.

I don’t know how I finally fell asleep, but I did not sleep well. Frankly, even thinking about certain parts now still gives me chills.

And even as someone who enjoys scary/eerie movies, I’m just so thankful that I didn’t see this in the theater.

If I had, I’d doubt I’d be able to fall asleep at all.

TGIF is an understatement

All I can say is thank GOD it’s finally Friday. This week, while busy, felt like it took forever to go by. I’m hoping that the hours until the weekend go significantly faster, but I won’t hold my breath.

In the meantime, I’m leaving you with this song that I can’t get out of my head. It was running through there as I fell asleep last night, again when I woke up, and the whole way to work this morning – even as I listened to other songs on my iPod. I don’t know if that means it’s really good, or I’m just in a rut. But either way, here you go:

Enjoy.

(You can listen to the original version here, but the acoustic has really grown on me.)

Happy Friday the 13th! Anyone superstitious?

Let’s play doctor

Note: Sadly, this is not a fun “playing doctor” story. I’ll just throw that out there now, so I don’t promote any false expectations. (That’s not to say there won’t ever be a fun story of that ilk, though, if I get my way…)

But this, this is a story about vomiting (so I guess it maybe counts as TMI?), and a request for advice.

You may not remember, but this past summer I had an unfortunate end-of-race incident, where I proceeded to puke just as I crossed the finish line. That was my ninth race, but it was the first time I’d ever been truly nauseous.

Sadly, it was not the last time.

My body seems to have made this a habit. It’s like a sick game of Duck, Duck, Goose: Run, Run, Vomit – but only during races.

About a month ago, I wrote about the Philly half-marathon, and how I had such a great time. And that was true. The part I left out was where, upon crossing the finish line, I promptly made it over to the medical tent and said, “Excuse me, I’m going to throw up – is there a trash can I could use?” But of course, when there was a receptacle at the ready, I managed to reel it in, and not need it.

Oh no, I managed to wait until we pulled into the restaurant where my parents were taking us for brunch.

And then I left my insides on the parking lot pavement, simultaneously holding my hair back and holding my medal away from my face to avoid splatter on the prize. (Priorities, you know.)

Most recently, at the Marine Corps 10k, I made it past the finish line only to book it to the sideline, squeeze myself between two people who were already there, and throw up over the barrier. (Note: to my knowledge, I did not get anything on them. They did, however, quickly leave.)

And that was the last straw. I finally made a doctor’s appointment. Then I had another with specialist. And now I have another lined up for tomorrow. The verdict so far?

“Just stop running races.“

Well, call it stubborn if you must, but I refuse to stop. There has to be another way.

And that’s where you guys come in: you’re all smart cookies – what in the hell could this possibly be? Anything you can think of: suggestions, questions that could trigger a revelation, personal experiences (though, I hope for your sakes those are few and far between), anything at all.

If you crack the case, I may even find you this hat:

And if that’s not incentive, I don’t know what is.

My own brand of organized

This may be a strange thing to write, but I really do appreciate the cleaning staff that works in my office. I know our center takes great pride in its appearance, and the cleaning staff makes sure that it can.

And personally, I love coming in to a tidy workspace, clean desk, emptied trashcan, etc.

What I don’t love, is coming into a completely reorganized desk. And by “reorganized,” I mean “everything in random piles pushed off to the sides.”

I like to think of my desk as organized chaos – but it’s still organized with everything where I want it, sorted by project and priority. Frankly, it sends my OCD into overdrive to come in and find things out of order.

To be fair, it might be better this way than when the cleaning staff moves only one or two things. I’ve sat down at my desk at times to see my coffee mug in a slightly different place, or my phone at a slightly different angle than I thought I left it, and it makes me wonder if I’m going crazy, if I’m imagining things.

At least now, with everything moved, I know that it’s not just in my head.

Not this time, anyway.